
UBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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" Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire. 
To grasp this sorry scheme of Things entire. 
Would not we shatter it to bits— and then 
Re-mould it nearer to the hearts desire." 

SubiUy&t of Omar Khayy&m. 




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library of CONGRESS 


Two Copies Recftived 


JAN 24 1906 



Cnoyrteht Entry 

jbLASS O- XXC. No. 





COPTBIOHT, 1905, BY 

A. E. ALDINGTON 


Copyright, 1906, by 

G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANF 


Issued Febrwri/, 1906 

Love Letters that 
Caused a Divorce 

< t. 



' c' 

Press of J. J. Little & Co. 


Astor Place, New York 





DEDICA TION 


cXnSay dnSy J^ove, to ^ou? 


^Wazwick (Souzt 
H^almex 
fpo5 




H 

LETTER 

ONE 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Mr. D 

We shall be pleased if you will dine 
with us on Thursday next, the 15th inst., 
at 8 o’clock. With kind regards. 

Sincerely yours, 

CATHERINE YORKE. 

Nov. 7th. 190— 


5 



LETTER 

TWO 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Mr. D 

I had no idea that you were so devoted 
to music, and such a critic! We are 
going to St. George’s Hall on Monday 

to hear Herr B • Shall look out 

for you there. 

Sincerely yours, 
CATHERINE YORKE. 

Nov. 17th. 

6 



LETTER 

THREE 

High Steeet, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Mr. D 

Thanks for note. So sorry you missed 

the treat of hearing Herr B . 

Do not forget that we play Bridge on 
Thursday again. 

Sincerely yours, 

CATHERINE YORKE. 

Nov. 22nd. 


7 


LETTER 

FOUR 


High Steeet, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Mr. D 

Am so sorry that “ the odd man out ” 
happened to be yourself on Thursday. 
But so fortunate for me that I had some 
of your music. Bring a heap more for 
Monday. 

Sincerely yours, 

CATHERINE YORKE. 

Nov. 24; th. 




8 


LETTER 

FIVE 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Mr. D 

More Bridge to-morrow night! Hal 
says he forgot to mention it to you, and 
hopes you will arrive early. I don’t! 
Am waiting patiently for next musical 
treat. Bridge is slow after Greig! 
Sincerely yours, 
CATHERINE YORKE. 

Nov. 30th. 

9 



LETTER 

SIX 


High Street, 

Kensington, W. 


Dear Mr. D- 


5 . 


It was so sweet of you to deny your- 
self the fascination of Bridge to play to 
me. I liked that second piece that we 
had so much. What was it? I forget. 

It is so true, — as you say, — that few 
men now care for anything but Clubs 
and cards. Why are you one of the ex- 
ceptions ? 

Do play on Wednesday. That con- 
ceited Miss Keith will be here. She plays 
like a barrel organ. I promise to listen 
10 




attentively. Even Hal delights in listen- 
ing to you. 

The flowers were perfect. So many 
thanks. 


Very sincerely yours, 

KITTY YORKE. 


Dec. 2nd. 


11 


LETTER 

SEVEN 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Mr. D 

Everyone so delighted with your play- 
ing on Wednesday. I forgot my duties 
as hostess in listening. 

Your note just arrived with tickets for 
St. George’s. So good of you. Hal’s 
night to dine at the Club and cannot be 
put off. He has promised to drop me at 
the hall and pick me up again at 10 
o’clock, so I shall not miss hearing 

Madame T . Will tell you about it 

on Saturday. 


12 


We hope you will be one of the lucky 
ones this time and win back your losses. 
Is it true that people unlucky at cards 
have good luck in other ventures.? Thanks 
so much for tickets. 

Very sincerely yours, 




KITTY YORKE. 


Dec. 7th. 


13 


LETTER 

EIGHT 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Mr. D 

I was so surprised to see you on Mon- 
day night, so fortunate that you were 
there to listen to my raptures over 

Madame T . She is better than 

P , I think. 

Hal was so glad that I was not alone 
to get a cab and go home. The cabmen 
are so horrid, and I am so afraid of them, ’ 
or, rather of their language. 

Of course, I want to know if you are 
14 




lucky in love, just to ascertain whether 
the inveterate loser at Bridge has any 
balm for the heart, that can atone for the 
loss to his pocket! 

It is such a horrid day, rain and fog. 
I really should have gone right off and 
joined the Ladies’ Club that I want to. 
Why did you ask me not to join it? Hal 
doesn’t mind in the least. I don’t think 
he minds what I do, so long as I am con- 
tented. City men have so much to think 
of. 

I do want to know why you don’t like 
Clubs for women. They don’t all smoke, 
and talk only of horse-racing and Bridge. 

Come in soon, and bring that new 
15 


piece by the Russian man with the awful 
name. 

My sister Mary arrives to-morrow. 
Why have you made up your mind not to 
like her.? 

The rain must answer for this long, 
uninteresting letter. 

Very sincerely yours, 

KITTY YORKE. 

Dec. 9th. 




16 


LETTER 

NINE 

High Steeet, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Mr. D • 

Do you really like receiving letters as 
much as all that? 

I am so sorry that you are so deter- 
mined not to like Mary, as she is just as 
determined to like you. So look to the 
buttons on your armor! 

I never can find out the answer to a 
riddle, so I give it up. What is the 
answer? The question is such a very 
ordinary one. “ Why cannot you like 
Mary? ” 

17 



No, I give it up, for I don’t see why. 
She is considered the beauty of the village 
at home, and this is no small honor for 
a Curate’s daughter, I can assure you. 

Do you know N in Leicester- 

shire? You ought to now you have met 
the village belle ! 

We are just going out shopping — 
Mary’s real first glimpse of London 
shops. I shall always remember mine, 
three years ago. Three years ! It seems 
ages. Time goes so slowly in towns. 
Come early to-morrow. 

Very sincerely yours, 

KITTY YORKE. 

Dec. 12th. 

18 


LETTER 

TEN 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Mr. D 

The answer to the riddle was so absurd. 
I don’t think you ought to think it, much 
less say it. 

Both Hal and Mary have asked me for 
the answer, how can I reply, “ because 
you like her sister too well.” It sounds so 
foolish, and I do wish you had not said it. 
You have made me so unhappy, because I 
had to tell a fib. That was foolish of me. 
But when Hal asked me the answer to the 
riddle, he was sitting behind his paper, 
19 



and it was so much easier to say, I had 
forgotten to enquire, than to give your 
answer. 

Sincerely yours, 

KITTY YORKE. 

Dec. 14th. 




20 


LETTER 

ELEVEN 




High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Mr. D 

We are going to be quite a small 
family party for Christmas, but want 
you to join us. Will you come on Christ- 
mas Eve and stay over Boxing Night to 
• go to the Pantomime with us ? 

We feel like real heroes, attempting to 
go for the first night, but I have never 
seen Drury Lane, and Hal booked seats 
a long time back to make sure of them. 
Do watch Mary’s face at the Pantomime, 
21 


She has never seen anything but Poole’s 
myriorama ! 

Are you quite better? Chills are so 
unpleasant and all bachelors are so care- 
less of draughty carriages, etc. Have 
you ever travelled in a very cold, not new, 
second class, South-Eastern carriage, 
with a crusty spinster who insists on ven- 
tilating her craze for the open air treat- 
ment? I did, once, and had neuralgia 
and a cold in my eye and influenza after- 
wards ! I wish they would label carriages 
for open air treatment, or spinsters, and 
then one would know what to do. 

Bring plenty of music. We will sing 
carols and altogether behave like people 



should at this festive season. But you 
must promise not to say an3rthing silly to 
me, like you do sometimes, because I want 
to be friends with you. 

Sincerely yours, 

KITTY YORKE. 

Dec. 19th. 


LETTER 

TWELVE 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Leon , — 

Did you enjoy Christmas? You have 
succeeded in making me very unhappy. 
And this to begin the New Year with! 

Of course, I have to spend a lot of time 
alone, but I am sure it is not, as you say, 
entirely Hal’s own fault that he gets 
home so late, and I see so little of him. 
You don’t know what he has to do in that 
horrid City. I don’t believe it would go 
on one whole day without him. 

I shall not be so lonely if you can run 
24 ) 



in frequently and join our Bridge party. 
If you do not play, you can be the good 
Samaritan to me. 

I have never had a platonic friend be- 
fore. Everyone says there is no such 
thing, but we will prove “ everyone ” 
wrong. I do want to be real friendly with 
you, and you have promised to keep 
faithfully to the path of friendship, and 
not a word or thought beyond. I am so 
glad I asked you, and you promised. It 
is so wrong and so foolish to pay empty 
compliments to another man’s wife. 

However, we talked that all out and 
settled it. You and I start as the first 
platonic friends to convince everyone in 
25 



general, and ourselves and Hal in par- 
ticular, that such a friendship is possible. 

What a dear, not-a-bit-jealous thing 
he is! 

We (being Mary and I) have got a 
deeply laid scheme on. Do not try and 
discover it. I hope you will be perishing 
of curiosity when next we meet. 

Yours, as ever, 

KITTY YORKE. 

Jan. 2nd. 



LETTER 

THIRTEEN 



High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

My Dear Leon , — 

What fun! Certainly, we will put on 
thick veils and go with you. We did not 
think when Mary first proposed the 
scheme that you would go with us. But 
we shall not be so nervous with a man to 
share the fun and the blame. 

We can meet you at the station, and 
you must promise to take us to see all 
the different things. I have never been 
allowed to go to anything of the sort 
before, and I do want to see those savage 
27 


people, and the women who look as if 
their heads were cut off. And I want to 
walk about, and listen to the Bands, and 
see the lights and the people, and, in fact, 
I want to do just what I have been told 
not to do! 

I have not seen you for nearly a week, 
and it seems such a long time. Have you 
found that set of Spanish Dances for 
me? 

I hope Hal will not be very vexed if he 
finds out we have all been to with- 

out telling him. I confess it has just 
that spice of mischief in it that makes it 
such a desirable thing to do. What per- 
verse creatures we are ! Why couldn’t we 




all have been made good in the first in- 
stance, and be saved all the trouble and 
effort? 

The station at 6. 

Yours ever, 

KITTY YORKE. 


29 


LETTER 

FOURTEEN 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

My Dear LeoUy — 

You ask me to tell you all about my- 
self. There is so little to tell. I am one 
of nine very ordinary, uninteresting 
children born to my parents, — a country 
curate and his wife — unable to keep one 
child really, not to mention nine, out of 
his annual pittance. How I have always 
loved and pitied my father! In looking 
back now I can see that his life has been 
one long effort to feed and clothe his chil- 
dren, and an eternal pitiless struggle to 
keep up appearances. 

SO 



How I envied our charwoman! She 
was poor in such a nice comfortable man- 
ner. She could beg, borrow, or even steal, 
and there seemed no alteration in her life. 
Her friends would sympathize and not 
blame her. 

But I want to tell you of my father. 
About myself there is nothing. I can see 
so plainly all the snubs and insults and 
petty tyranny which he bore so patiently. 
My soul again rebels as it did when I 
was only a child and did not know the 
degradation of genteel poverty. 

Can you realize the effort it is for a 
cultured, refined scholar to have to sub- 
ject himself to his Vicar, when that good 
31 


gentleman worships money, position and 
the flesh pots? I have cried many bitter 
tears over the refined torture doled out 
by that pillar of the Church to his Curate. 

I must tell you one incident to show you 
the man. My father had carefully pre- 
pared his usual homely sermon for the 
morning service, making it as simple and 
kindly as he could for the parishioners, 
trying, as he ever does, to lead them to 
Heaven by love and not drive them by 
fear. The service was partly over when 
the fox-hunting Squire’s wife and a few 
of their guests came into their large pew. 
I noticed one of the choir boys sent with 
a slip of paper from the Vicar to my 





father. I saw the blood mount into my 
father’s face, and then die slowly away, 
leaving him pale and calm. 

You are wondering, as I did, what was 
on that small slip of paper. 

It was simply the words, “ I will preach 
the sermon.” 

I know you are not small-minded 
enough to grasp what that meant. 

It was for the Vicar to be heard by the 
Hall folks, the Vicar to be brought before 
the eyes of my Lady of the Hall, as it was 
some few weeks since he had been tolerated 
as one at a dinner there! Can you 
imagine this man.'* 

KITTY. 

S3 


LETTER 

FIFTEEN 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

My Dear Leon , — 

Seriously, there is nothing of interest 
in my life. I always meant to marry a 
very poor man because I envied them so. 
I felt I could cook dinners and mind 
babies, but I could not face the everlast- 
ing struggle of “ make-believe.” 

My greatest dread was to become the 
wife of a poor parson like my father, or, 
equally to be dreaded, the sharer of the 
joys and poverty of a half-pay officer. 

We have many near N . 

34 . 

k 



I really meant to marry Johnny Bing, 
who graced the dual professions of organ- 
blower at church, and boot boy at the 
Vicarage. But Johnny was not appre- 
ciative and never asked me! Then Hal 
came to our village concert, — he was 
staying with his friends some few miles 
away, — he heard me sing “ Hush, the 
Bogie Man,” to please the kiddies, and — 
here I am ! 

Now you know all about me, and you 
are going to be a good friend and not say 
anything foolish, — and above all, my 
dear man, you are to avoid being a poli- 
tician to me. “ For why,” you ask. Be- 
cause they have an invariable rule of say- 
35 


ing one thing and meaning exactly the 
opposite. 

Yours, 


KITTY. 


36 


LETTER 

SIXTEEN 



High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

My Dear Leon , — 

Do, for heaven’s sake, remember our 
contract and stick to it. How can you 
say such things to me.? and how can I 
listen to them.? You will simply put an 
end to our friendship altogether, if you 
do not keep strictly to the terms of our 
platonic agreement. 

You have terrified and unnerved me by 
the awful, passionate things you have 
said to me. Do think more, — do realize 
that I am your friend’s wife and cut off 
S7 


from your path in life as completely as 
the night is severed from the day. 

Help me to keep your friendship, and 
kill that other feeling that you have for 
me. It is not love, believe me, for I know 
that love cannot exist without respect and 
honor. 

I cannot discuss it more with you. I 
only ask you to be true to your better 
self and put your honor before all else. 

Help me to do what is right and keep 
me your friend as ever. 

KITTY YORKE. 


38 




LETTER 

SEVENTEEN 

High Steeet, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Leoriy — 

It is ages since I heard from you or 
saw you. Why do you obey me so im- 
plicitly? Surely you know that when a 
woman most begs you to leave her, she is 
only longing the more for your presence. 
Have you not seen that I speak with my 
mind and conscience and not with my 
heart ? 

I must not say more to you. Already 
we have nearly shattered the barrier of 
friendship, that I have begged you to 
build to hide from our eyes what — alas! 
89 


— is more difficult to tear from our hearts. 

It is terrible to think of, and I feel 
such a despicable being. I would give my 
all to undo the fact that we have allowed 
love to enter where friendship can only 
be. And yet, if we take that from our 
lives now, what is there left.?* 

What a mystery life is ! I have meant 
to be good, — really pure in mind and soul. 
It has been no effort to me until I real- 
ized that your presence was more to me 
than anything else in life. 

I confess this much to you, and ask 
your mercy and help. 

We will both forget; we will both do 
all we can to make Hal happy. I will do 



more, do all for him that I can. I do. 
He wonders at my feverish anxiety to 
please and help him. What a mean 
hypocrite I feel! And yet what else can 
I do? 

No, that is all. I will do that and you 
will help me. We will never, never speak 
of this again ; never by word or deed, not 
even by a look must we wander from the 
cold, narrow footpath of friendship. Be- 
cause I can see that beyond that cold, 
calm footpath stretch the warm, passion- 
ate deserts of love and lust. Ah, no, help 
me by your silence, but do not keep away 
from me for ever. 

Your friend, 

41 KITTY. 


LETTER 

EIGHTEEN 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear LeoUy — 

Thank you for your silence, which is 
your help to me. How long will it take 
you to forget I keep making the most 
fervent vows not to think, not to miss 
you, not to want you, and sometimes I 
succeed for quite an hour ; and then some- 
thing, a word, a song, a chance meeting 
will bring back the longing for what 
“ might have been.” 

If only you had never spoken, — ^never 
42 



told me of your love, mine would never 
have had the courage to have been bom. 
But once the sin is committed, once a 
love is created, you cannot kill it. Tell 
me can this cruelty be tme? Only tell 
me by your actions and not by words. 

Have you tried, as I do, to kill love? 
Have you trodden it under-foot, and 
stamped and crushed your heel on its 
neck, and then found yourself longing 
and striving to see it live again? Have 
you conjured to yourself feelings of hor- 
ror and remorse, killed your love a thou- 
sand times in your mind, only to find it 
warmly pulsing in your heart? 

Poets and sentimentalists say you can- 
43 


not kill this Cupid, — that ought to be 
painted as a fiend and not an innocent- 
looking cherub. But being neither poets 
nor sentimentalists we must prove to each 
other, conclusively and in absolute cer- 
tainty, that love can die. 

Let it die, it is an impure creation as all 
human affections must be, and therefore, 
I argue, it is perishable. 

But, my dear one, do pray for me that 
it may perish quickly. All the interest 
seems taken from my life. How I hate 
to own to my sin and weakness ! 

And yet I must own to it, that deep, 
deep in my heart at this moment I am 
hugging with tender satisfaction the 






thought, that you love me, even if you 
for ever must despise me. 

I must never see you again. I have 
made up my mind to that. Good-bye. 

Yours, 


KITTY. 


45 


LETTER 

NINETEEN 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Leon , — 

Three weeks and two days since last 
I heard from you! I hope you have 
been as happy and contented as I am. 

Hal took me to see Tree on Tuesday 
and we both enjoyed it. We are going 
to Henley, and I want to go home, too, 
for a long change, if only Hal can get 
away to join me. I cannot go without 
him. 

When are you going to Norway with 
your friend? I hope you will have good 
sport. 

46 




I should not have written to you, only 
I want you to know that I am going to 
give up my Club and stop my letters 
being received there. 

Of course, I am not doing this to pre- 
vent my hearing from you. That was 
quite unnecessary as we thoroughly 
understood each other, and I know you 
will respect my wishes. 

I wanted you to know that I am quite 
happy. Quite. And as this is your only 
desire, — -you have ever assured me of this, 
— then you have your desire, and there is 
not the least danger of my forgetting for 
one moment again that I am ever your 
friend. KITTY YORKE. 


47 


LETTER 

TWENTY 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Leon , — 

I must wish you good-bye before you 
start for Norway. I do sincerely hope 
you are preparing to start in a less reck- 
less mood than when I saw you on Friday. 
I could hear by your every word that you 
are resenting my wish, you are thinking 
me cold and unkind. 

I shall always remember you calling 
me cold and calculating. I could unde- 
ceive you on that point even now, if 
only 

48 



But, no, we are getting on dangerous 
ground again. How awfully hard it is 
to make one’s self think of anything else 
except what your heart is thinking. That 
is the worst of having the gift of con- 
centration ! 

I was taught by my father to try and 
cultivate that, and it is really a habit, to 
make your mind concentrate on one thing 
only, instead of flying from one thought 
to another. It has been useful to me 
until now. But now I am anxious to 
think of twenty different things at once. 
I want to rush from one occupation to 
another. I cannot rest. I must keep on 
all day, and never think. 

49 


I am going to hate you for this, I am 
sure. I am going to lose my peace of 
mind, and always be secretly hankering 
after the unattainable. I can feel it and 
I must hate you for it. 

Go, and catch fish, and sit and dream 
and dream. Heavens ! how you can 
choose indolence and inactivity now I do 
not know. 

I ought not to have written like this. 
I did not mean to. But I am always 
making vows to forget, never, never to 
think of you again, and then — well, 
then I find that power of concen- 
tration most provoking ! Alas ! my 
friend, you must extend your pity to 




me. I am one of the frailest of my 
frail sex. 

Yours ever, 

KITTY. 

P.S. — I thought it would be so very 
childish and weak to give up my Club, 
and so I am going to continue it. But, 
of course, you must not write to me. 


51 


LETTER 

TWENTY-ONE 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Leon , — 

I was astonished to-day to hear that 
you have not started for Norway. I have 
just returned from my Club where I 
found your letter. What am I to say? 
Dear, I pity you. Why can’t you forget 
me ? I thought that I was doing my part 
so well, though it is very hard. 

I do not know what to say to you now, 
your letter was so piteous. You are 
lonely. I am lonely. You are hungry 
for love. I hunger, too. You wander 
52 




about in misery, alone. I am miserable, 
too. 

Oh, it is too pitiable; and there is no 
help for it. We can only go on silently. 
How often people sneer when they hear 
of a man’s friend loving his wife and vice 
versa. But such in many cases it is, that 
the friend has looked on and seen what 
the man in his selfish blindness has missed. 

How lonely one can be in a crowd! 
How lonely one can be in a room full of 
people I And how lonely one can be any- 
where without one’s love ! 

I can see it all now. I laugh and talk 
and go on to all appearances in my usual 
way, but I am always thinking of you, 
53 


wondering where you are. It is madden- 
ing to me. 

If only Hal would care; if only he 
would be cruel to me! Anything, any- 
thing but that cold, calm indifference 
which is crueller and harder to bear than 
a blow. 

I wanted so much in life. I wanted 
every day filled right up, and above all 
else, love, real, worshipping love. You 
offer it to me — too late. I cannot take 
it. I dare not listen. Believe me, I know 
all that love could give me. Can I not 
see the home made by love, and even the 
dream children that might have been. 
Ah, Leon, we dare not think. Go on. 




drift on, apart from me. I dare not see 
you. There is for ever that immeasurable 
gulf between us. I dare not meet you, in 
fear, that in my weakness I hold out my 
hands to you, and you would take them, 
and drag me into that gulf of sin and 
sorrow wherein we should both perish. 
Please keep away from me. It is all you 
can do to help me in my misery. 

Yours ever, 

KITTY. 


55 


LETTER 

TWENTY-TWO 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dearest ^ — 

I believe you. It is less sinful to live 
with the being you love in conventional 
sin, than to live a long lie in legitimate 
sin. What is there so binding in a mere 
ceremony, or a set of formal words ! I 
was a child and did not know. I meant to 
do always what is right, and did not know 
the cruel temptation of love. 

I will think over what you have asked 
me. But if ever I do wrong, I shall never, 
never be happy again. It would kill the 
56 





soul in me, kill the brightness and 
laughter that you have loved. Would you 
take me at that price.? Would you care 
for the body of the woman you love if 
you had killed the soul in her.? Tell me 
this. 


Yours, 

KITTY. 


57 


LETTER 

TWENTY.THREE 


High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

My Love , — 

Let me write to you and tell you all; 
it makes it easier for me, and it wiU be 
some small comfort to you. 

I have given up thinking whether to 
love you is right or wrong, because I 
cannot help it. We must just go on 
from day to day, and be quite content 
with the chance look or word we fling to 
one another. If only there was no need 
for deception, no inner knowledge of the 



wrong we, unintentionally, have done in 
thought, I could be happy — even now. 
Not happy in the calm, placid way of a 
woman who has been tempted by love, 
and been cold enough to rise superior to 
its call, turning her mind to things paro- 
chial and spiritual. But I could have 
been happy in my own way ; happy, 
simply because you love me, proud of the 
fact that your heart chose me out of all 
the women you see and meet each day in 
this wonderful, cruel London, and that 
in spite of so called honor, in the face of 
everything conventional, and, risking 
your soul’s salvation, you let your love 
rise triumphant above all and chose me. 

59 


Though we are parted in one sense, for 
ever, what can part or come between the 
real love of a man and a woman? I am 
not speaking of calf love and the sweet 
folly of children. No, dear heart, we 
both know how quickly those sweet mem- 
ories fade. Alas! that we both feel the 
overmastering love of man for woman, 
woman for man, the clamorous longing 
of passionate love for its mate, the old, 
old story of the Garden of Eden, the un- 
speakable mystery of the greatest force 
in the world, that cruel love that draws 
souls and bodies together with the 
strength of Heaven, and yet doles out 
the eternal penalty of pain and retribu- 



tion. Oh, the misery of it all — and yet 
the sweetness ! I am tired with thinking. 
Good night. 

KITTY. 


LETTER 

TWENTY.FOUR 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Love , — 

I 

I have wanted you so much. I have 
felt so far from you. Each day that we 
live quite apart, without a word or a 
look, is a day lost from our short lives. 

How good you are to me! I do feel 
that. You never forget for one minute 
that you love me. I can see it in every 
small act of j^ours. I wish we could make 
life more happy, more tolerable for each 
other. If only there was another way! 
Not that road of sin and sorrow, not the 
pain for others who do not know Rnd can 
62 



never realize the agony of wrongly placed 
love. * 

I still have hours of fighting against 
you, hours of thought and prayer that 
tire me body and soul. And I think I 
have quite conquered love and found 
happiness and peace in duty. I sleep 
and forget, only to wake, dear love, and 
hold out my arms to you in pure weak- 
ness and craving for love and protection. 
That is sin. I feel it. But sweet sin, — 
far too sweet, — to call forth repentance. 
I would rather live one day with my love 
than a century without. Where will 
this lead us? I wonder- 

6S 


KITTY. 


LETTER 

TWENTY-FIVE 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear One ^ — 

I have been thinking of the fact that 
you do not care for poetry, and yet you 
so love music. I think that many manly 
men despise the poets and really condemn 
them unheard. Yet poets so often ex- 
press what ordinary mortals may be cap- 
able of feeling, and yet incapable of put- 
ting into words. 

Hear what Shelley says in “ Love’s 
Philosophy.” 

64 



“The fountains mingle with the river. 

And the rivers with the ocean. 

The winds of Heaven mix for ever 
With a sweet emotion; 

Nothing in the world is single; 

All things by a law divine 
In one another’s being mingle — 

WTiy not I with thine? 

“ See the mountains kiss high Heaven, 

And the waves clasp one another; 

No sister flower would be forgiven 
If it disdained its brother: 

And the sunlight clasps the earth. 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea. 

What are all these kissings worth. 

If thou kiss not me?” 

There is a law divine, I am sure. It 
makes for each one a perfect mate some- 
where. It is only the narrowness of 
65 


chance that keeps them asunder in this 
world. 

I could have believed in, and imagined 
a heaven where one could live eternally 
with one’s earthly love, but there is no 
hope of that held out to us. We lose all 
in losing our chance of life together here. 
Oh, I did not want this, I did not mean 
to steal my happiness in a few moments 
of bliss, as we do. 

I did not wish to give to any heart 
pain and sorrow by my life; I wanted 
just to live and be true and a good 
woman. What have I done to miss it all ? 



66 


KITTY. 


LETTER 

TWENTY-SIX 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

My Dear One , — 

I am terrified at the depths to which 
love has led me. I am faint with long- 
ing. You do not know what it means to 
me to miss seeing you for one day, and 
you have punished me for my prudish- 
ness by leaving me for a whole week and 
not tried to see me. 

I acknowledge that it is sheer prudish- 
ness to feel that I cannot let you kiss me, 
and yet own that I love you, really and 
intensely love you. Do you believe that.^ 
67 


And yet there is something that will not 
let me. I should sink so in your eyes as 
well as in my own. You would not see 
me like all those other women. You 
would not like to think that I held love 
so lightly. No, it is too much to me, — 
it is my life. 

Other women can fill up their lives with 
dressmakers and milliners. I cannot. I 
was made for love, — you have taught me 
that, — and if only I could feel weak 
enough to say to you “ take me, we will 
pay the price together,” — ^but, love, I 
cannot. 

I feel so wicked, so dishonorable in lov- 
ing you. I can only hope to have 



strength to live out my life and not give 
pain to innocent hearts. We will not let 
each other do that. Will you be strong, 
dear heart, and remember that when I 
am weak.? And let me be your strength 
when love is mastering reason and all in 
you. 

During the past week I have sometimes 
hated you, with that peculiar hatred 
which is part of love, and then comes the 
overwhelming longing to be near you. I 
am happy when I know that you are 
even near me. I can stand in a room, 
breathless with happiness, only to hear 
your voice. 

Oh, the mad, delicious folly of love, 

69 


the pain, the pleasure, the hope and fear, 
the intoxicating bliss of even knowing 
the thrill of a loved presence ! 

KITTY. 




70 


LETTER 

TWENTY-SEVEN 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

My Love , — 

Keep far from me to-day. I am weak 
and so lonely. It is so hard to go on 
taking interest in what matters so little. 
Life seems so appalling, so useless. How 
can I live on, even to give so-called happi- 
ness and peace to others, — just a figure 
head, the unwilling ruler of what ought 
to be a home. 

What a dear word that is, home, when 
it really means all that it would convey. 
To-day I can see, in piteous, pathetic 

71 


contrast, the home created by deep, pas- 
sionate love; and on the other hand the 
mere shelter and monotonous toleration 
of cold, calm indifference. How I long 
for the warmth and the thrill of a love- 
lit home ! Cannot you see each day 
dawning with new pleasures, new inter- 
ests, even new sorrows? The expectant 
bliss of being amongst others, knowing 
that the hour would surely come when they 
would be but a passing thought, and you 
would be alone with love and could sink 
into those tired arms and find perfect rest 
and peace. Love is surely a touch of the 
Divine. 

This world is cruel mockery enough 
72 


now. Can you imagine what it would be 
robbed of earthly love? 

When the world was made the Creator 
was indeed satisfied, for this is a lovely 
world. And then, surely. He made man, 
just feeling that he would rule and would 
work and could uphold the dignity of 
the world. And then there wanted some- 
thing really to appreciate the beauty of 
it all, something to inspire man, some- 
thing even to tempt him to ambition and 
desire for life, — real life, not humdrum, 
— and so the Creator fashioned a bundle 
of sweet inconsistencies to be at once the 
joy and pain of life and behold — woman ! 
not the frail, anaemic substitute, but the 
73 


glorious, healthy, pure woman. I would 
like to have been a man, just to have 
found such an one, and have taken her 
for my own and shown her the real mean- 
ing of life. My dear, we only exist and 
do that very feebly. But I suppose the 
inevitable must always be bowed to. 

KITTY. 




74 


LETTER 

TWENTY-EIGHT 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dear Love , — 

Let us meet somewhere, as you asked 
me to do once long ago. I am going to 
wish you good-bye in my own way, and 
then you can go to the Antipodes as you 
suggest and I can — well, I don’t know 
yet. 

I am still deliberating coldly and 
calmly and this is a very difficult matter 
for a passionate nature to do. But it is 
good for one to practice self-restraint, 
that is, if we really can believe in good 
75 


and bad. Our latter-day ideas of what is 
good and bad are so fearfully confusing 
and misleading. 

As a girl at home it always appeared 
incongruous to me that we could be taken 
to dine at the Hall or the Vicarage, and 
sit next to a horrid old roue, with dresses 
that only partially covered us. We were 
allowed to dance or sit out with these 
same old or young debauched creatures; 
yet to be seen walking in the lovely fields 
or woods with an intelligent man, or even 
with one minus the intelligence would be 
an unpardonable offence, and compromise 
not only the girl but the man. 

It seems to me after much looking on 



and thinking that the same unwholesome 
principles penetrate all so-called society. 
Oh, I am so tired of it all, so weary of 
the every-day strain of keeping up ap- 
pearances. 

I am going to see you once quite alone, 
let you take me in your arms, and 

kiss me, knowing full well 

the sin, the conventional sin, wish you 
good-bye, dear love, for years, perhaps 
for ever, and then you must leave me and 
let me fight my own small battle. 

But we shall each have the memory of 
that farewell. It must last us a life- 
time. It will be the one golden memory 
in both our lives. Never again must we 
77 


meet afterwards, because I cannot bear 
to see you again after I have stepped 
down from my pinnacle, especially as I 
am stepping down to you, dear, not in a 
moment of madness or passion. 

I have thought and thought of what I 
should like most in the world, if I knew 
that it was my last wish, and it is that 
you take me into your arms and kiss me 
and then good-bye. We shall have done 
wrong. If only, — if only, we alone could 
take the punishment. 

KITTY. 




78 


LETTER 

TWENTY-NINE 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Dearesty — 

What am I to say to you? I know you 
cannot leave me. I am still thrilling with 
the memory of that parting. What was 
it you said to me? Let me go over again, 
word for word. It is all burnt into my 
heart and brain. Did you say, I must 
leave all and be yours at any price. Did 
I answer, I cannot, the road to you is sin, 
black and appalling, and misery for so 
many. Did you say. No, my love, you 
shall not sin, you shall only keep silence. 
A few compromising meetings, a letter 
79 


from me to you, all the blame, all the sin 
and shame on me, little one, and then will 
you be brave and keep silence. Did you 
go on, “ I will take you away, and you 
shall be loved and worshipped. Every 
act of my life would only be for your 
happiness. I would shield you from 
every look or word of pain. I would 
make you forget all else but ourselves 
and our happiness. We would grow old 
without knowing it, because the eyes of 
real love are so blind, they do not see the 
streaks of gray and the lines of time. I 
would make you forget all but your love 
for me by sheer force of my own pure 
love for you.” 

80 



Did you say each word of this, my 
love? I felt faint and cold and begged 
you not to tempt me, and then the agony 
of it all was too much. The moment of 
parting came, — you could not hold out 
your arms to me. I could see the pain in 
your eyes, and I conquered that faintness 
and fear and held out my arms to you. 

I can still feel the touch of your arms 

around me that kiss! Never, never 

shall I forget it. Let me keep the mem- 
ory of that somewhere away from every 
other memory of life, let me conjure up 
that moment in my mind when I die, and 
then I shall forget death and all its 
terrors. KITTY. 

81 


LETTER 

THIRTY 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

Loved One , — 

I do miss you. It is weeks since you 
left me and I am still dragging on from 
day to day, living only for a word from 
you, existing only in the hope of seeing 
you. 

I did not mean you .to leave me. I 
thought you never could if once you had 
kissed my lips. Is it that you despise 
me? Is it that you thought me an angel 
and found me only a woman? no, it is 
82 


not this. I know what it is. We dare 
not ever meet again. You realize it. I 
realize it. 

I tempted you to kiss me, to see if you 
were a weak man or a strong. I wanted 
that kiss as I have never wanted any- 
thing else in my life. Having obtained 
my wish I am content to live on with the 
memory of that minute’s bliss, and I am 
content and even happy, if 3"ou, my love, 
can only let me know that you are happy 
too. 

After all what is there beyond ? Wliat 
is there to wish for.? Nothing worth 
having. 

It is impossible for us to live as if we 
83 


had casually met, just the ordinary con- 
ventional engagement, the society wed- 
ding and the life of indifference and 
commonplace platitudes! This was not 
for us. Man always desires the unattain- 
able, and so does woman, only she won’t 
be honest enough to say so. 

Do you think if you offered that 
moment of bliss to any poor, bored 
creature, who has never known one thrill 
of heaven’s gift of love, in exchange for 
a life time of dull monotony and earthly 
care, she would not gladly exchange all 
for that moment.'* I think she would and 
that she would be richer for the ex- 
change. 



I go back to that kiss, not once but a 
thousand times each day in memory. 

I have read of passionate lovers, rain- 
ing hundreds of kisses on the heroine’s 
face, brow and neck, but nothing could 
explain in words that kiss. 

You held me in your arms and I lifted 
my face to you. You bent down and put 
your lips to mine and just held me there. 

That one long kiss Not a hundred 

passionate, hasty, impetuous kisses, not 
the kiss of a man to his wife, or a rake 
for his woman, not the kiss of lust or 
even of desire, but the clinging kiss of 
love. I wanted that. I have had that. 
My love, we have had all that is worth 


85 


having. Wherever you are, you can go 
back in memory to that as I can. We 
can meet there in that moment at any 
time in our lives. The best of life — when 
we can realize what life is, — is only in 
memories. Do you know this.? 


KITTY. 


LETTER 

THIRTY-ONE 

High Street, 

Kensington, W. 

My Dearest , — 

Why do you mind so much? Please 
don’t. Just try and realize that what I 
say to you is not imagination but truth. 
I can only once more assure you that you 
took the best of me in that moment. You 
have had all that is worthy of our love. 

I shall never meet you willingly, never 
see you again. It is my wish that you 
go now, as you said you would, and leave 
me, or rather the shell of me here. You 
have my heart, my soul conventionally 
87 


pure. Take it with you, and leave the 
remainder to the world that claimed it 
first and took it. 

Remember one thing, we must not die 
without each other; we may live without, 
but we cannot die without love. I have 
often thought and even hoped that we 
might be in some danger together. That 
in the years to come when our time for 
quitting this puzzle of a world comes, 
we might be on some ship that founders. 
Because then for both of us it would 
mean only pleasure, not pain, only hope, 
not fear. I am a coward, but if you held 
me, I should forget all else, and not even 
know that danger was near. 




If you would just hold me and kiss me 
once again like that, I could go from this 
world to any other, and neither know nor 
mind the passing. 

Thus for us, my love, this world holds 
for us one great fear the less. It is not 
for us “ until death doth us part,” but 
“ until death doth us unite.” 


KITTY. 


89 


EXTRACT FROM A MORNING 
NEWSPAPER. 

Before the President of the Probate, 
Divorce, and Admiralty Division 
(Mr. Justice Jeune). Yorke v. 
Yorke. D Co-respondent. 

Counsel gave details of the marriage, 
adding that a dissolution was sought on 
the ground of the misconduct of the wife. 
There were no children of the marriage, 
and the case was undefended. His client 
did not ask for damages, and was pre- 
pared to make the respondent an allow- 
ance on certain terms, one being that she 
90 



agreed never to see the Co-respondent 
again. Counsel then read a letter of an 
incriminating nature from the Co- 
respondent to the Respondent which had 
been found by the Petitioner. 

In granting a decree nisi the learned 
Judge commented upon the magnanimous 
and unusual offer of the Petitioner, and 
contrasted this with the conduct of the 
Co-respondent, which he considered as 
dishonorable and more than usually 
despicable, as while he was the Peti- 
tioner’s friend, he had stolen the affection 
of his wife and ruined his home. 


91 


CLUB. 


SCENE.— THE C 

First Sympathetic Friend. 

Awfully sorry, Yorke, to hear of your 
terrible trouble. 

Second Sympathetic Friend. 

I am, too, old chap. It is really too 
awful. Much worse than losing one’s 
wife by death. 

Sorrowing Petitioner. 

My dear, good fellows, don’t mention 
it. The late Mrs. Yorke was an awfully 
cold, ordinary mortal, not capable of car- 
ing a scrap for a fellow. She was one of 
those goody-goody freezing sort of 
92 



women, who like music and the fine arts. 
I shall be all right. I am just oflp to the 
Music Hall to console myself 
with something a trifle less frigid. 

General Chorus. 

Hear, hear. Wish you luck. 


93 


SCENE.— THE DECK OF THE 
MONGOLIA, OUTWARD BOUND 
FOR AUSTRALIA. 


He. 

I swear to devote my life to your 
happiness. You may leave me or stay 
with me, I shall ever have only one 
thought. You may be cruel to me, hate 
me, loathe me. I can only say I love you, 
I worship you. Let me take you to the 
English Bishop when we land and explain 
all, and if the church will not consecrate 
our union, we will join the church that 


She. 

I can think no more — fight no more, do 
with me as you will. But look {point- 
ing to the Quay) I must go back. I 
pray you 


I 


He. 

What is it, loved one.? I can see noth- 
ing and we are just clear of the dock. 
There is no going back. What do you 
see? 

She. 

That little, old, bent man — the girl in 
black holding his arm in both hands 

He. 

I see them. 

95 


She. 


Let me go back. Father, — Mary — 
Father ! 


He. 


Kitty. Remember. Dulce est amari. 


96 




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